


Unspoken

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: How do Mulder and Scully deal with age and nostalgia, mid season 11.





	Unspoken

He’s still sore when he comes out of the shower. His heart has slowed but the adrenaline is still fizzing in his veins. Cases are more of a workout than they used to be. And then his mind is back in the past, running through when he was able to spend days running through the rain, nights poring over notes and creating profiles, wearing the same suits and shirts, those heavy coats, not shaving. Living off bad coffee and vending machine snacks.

The towel is threadbare and scratches across his chest. The mirror is half-fogged. Gripping the sides of the chipped bowl he peers at his face. Craggy, loose skin. Greying stubble, a day too long. Greying sideburns. Grey chest hair. His ragged exhalation fogs the glass again.

He never knows when she’s going to turn up. If there could be one word to sum up their years together, unspoken would probably be the best fit. He’s wearing his oldest pair of boxers and rifling through the closet when she calls out.

“Mulder, what happened to those bags of potato chips? Did you eat them both?”

Even in her heeled boots she can’t reach to the back of the cupboard. Her shirt has risen out of her jeans and the white scar where she removed the tattoo is shining in the light cutting through the blind.

“You showered already,” she says as she shuts the cupboard. She almost sounds disappointed. “And I really wanted those chips.” She rubs her temples and flumps against the sideboard.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling open another cupboard and finding a bag of Kettle sea salt chips and handing them to her. “You seem tense.”

“I’m feeling a little sore, that’s all. Need to get back to the gym on a regular basis.” She twists her head and pops a handful of chips in her mouth. “These are good.”

He takes a few and nods. “I didn’t think we were supposed to eat this kind of thing,” and as he walks past her to find the clean wineglasses he adds, directly into her ear, “at our age.”

“Every now and again, Mulder, it’s nice to shrug off the constraints of societal pressures and just do whatever the hell we want, don’t you think? Isn’t that what we used to do?”

He pours a glass of red and follows her to the living room. “I’ll just get dressed.”

She sits and as he walks up the stairs, he’s kind of waiting for her to tell him not to bother. If she’s thinking it, he doesn’t pick it up. Maybe actual communication is more helpful to negotiate the complexities of whatever it is their relationship is these days. He can’t find the jeans he’s looking for. He can’t find the tee he’s looking for. His eyes fix on the pile of unwashed clothes draped on the chair in the corner. He grabs pants and a top from the closet.

“You really need to do your laundry, Mulder.” She’s leaning against the doorframe, sipping her wine. “Those new suits of yours aren’t cheap.”

He scratches at his neck as though the stiff collar is still snagging at the skin there. His bank account did take a hit. But the Hoover Building corridors were full of suave, suited agents. And he spent too many years not living, not caring.

She takes the tee out of his hand. “This is old, Mulder. I remember this one.” Holding it up, he sees how it’s baggy and out of shape. He sees his reflection in the mirror. He’s not out of shape, but he’s certainly aware of how much longer it takes him to look half-way decent these days.

“Probably needs to be binned.”

“No,” she says. “I liked it. Like it.” She pushes it against his chest. He can smell the salt and wine on her breath. She’s wearing that little smile. “Put it on.”

She watches and he’s suddenly self-conscious. The tee catches on his stubble. His hair is drying and he feels it sticking out here and there. His skin is tight on his face. He didn’t moisturise. The tee is looser than his usual ones, grungy in places. He’s a mess. And she’s just…always got it together.

She smiles again and then she’s kissing him and kissing him. He’s pretty sure she whispers ‘this is how I like my Mulder’ as she’s trailing her tongue down the salt-and-pepper hair above the band of his boxers, but he’s not going to ask her to say it again.

Some things are best left unspoken.


End file.
